The Duke, the Earl, and the Blind Girl
by Blue Lace Agate
Summary: Regency AU! Seto, the Earl of Kaiba, makes a wager with the Duke of Devlin that he can make a street girl the toast of London society. But he gets more than he bargained for when Serenity enters his life. Despite her blindness, can she see past his coldness and pride and into his heart? Silentshipping
1. The Wager

"Devil take it, Kaiba! She won't even see me!"

Frowning at the glaring sunlight that invaded his study with Devlin's abrupt arrival, Seto regarded the duke with a less-than-sympathetic eye. His head ached like the devil from the brandy from the night before. He supposed it was a just punishment for drinking alone in his study instead of accompanying Mokuba to Lady Harwood's musicale, but the mere thought of enduring her three daughters tuneless playing had driven to him to drink.

He'd managed to avoid Mokuba and the disapproving frown he knew he'd see, only to be faced with Devlin—who was much too loud for any hour, let alone one before noon. Still, the man was a friend, as far as that went, and one did not turn away a duke that turned up on one's doorstep, even as flippant a duke as Ryuji Otogi, eighth Duke of Devlin.

"Lost your touch with the ladies?" Seto raised a brow as Devlin flopped glumly into a claret leather wing chair. "I would hardly have thought it possible."

"She actually had her man turn me away," Devlin grimaced. "Me! Denied admittance like some schoolboy after his first opera."

Seto shook his head—an unwise move that produced a blinding spasm of pain. "Has she found another protector, then?"

"No," Devlin muttered, "she's just still in the boughs after those earrings I gave her. How was I to know she thinks pearls are unlucky." He raked a hand through his black hair—unfashionably long, it gave him the rakish air of a pirate. "I'll never turn her up sweet without some new gewgaw. You have to help me, Kaiba."

Seto frowned, unable to understand how any man to allow a woman to reduce him to such a state. "Surely a mere opera dancer isn't worth going to such lengths over. There must be dozens of demimondaines who'd grovel over the prospect of gaining your patronage, Devlin. Can't you find anyone else to catch your eye?"

Devlin muttered something profane under his breath. "I should have known you'd never understand," he growled. "But I don't want just any willing woman. I want Vivian, damnit! But she won't see me!"

"Calm yourself, man." Seto rose and moved to a small table to pour out two glasses from a crystal decanter—a decanter that had held significantly more last night. "Drown your sorrows like a man" he commanded.

Devlin took the proffered glass with less than good grace. "It's easy for you to say." He gulped down a mouthful of brandy. "I doubt any of the fairer sex has ever turned you away her dressing room door." He gestured at Seto with the hand that was not gripping the glass. "Just look at you! You wear Weston's finest—without padding, of course—with the effortless assurance of royalty. Your cravat is tied so intricately no one could possibly mimic it. And those boots are from St. James's Street, or I am King George."

Seto glanced down at his burnished black leather Hessians and shrugged. He had never bothered much about fashion, leaving such matters to his valet, Roland. "So?"

Devlin made a sound of disgust. "Looks, wealth, and the title. What woman could resist?"

"You're the one with the dukedom, Devlin," Seto pointed out. The Earls of Kaiba might have vast holdings, but dukes outranked everyone besides the royals themselves. Besides, Devlin could trace his bloodlines back to the Conqueror himself. As for Seto's own ancestry…

Devlin scoffed. "Pretty titles aren't much good when all your blunt is tied up in damn farming schemes."

Seto raised an eyebrow. Everyone knew Devlin's father had run his estates into the ground, but Seto would wager the gaming tables had as much to do with Devlin's empty pockets as his attempts to restore his lands to prosperity. That, and his propensity to lavish expensive gifts on his mistresses, the latest of whom was this Vivian creature.

Devlin swallowed down the rest of his brandy. "She only likes green stones," he said mournfully. "Emeralds, she wants. Bloody emeralds." He cast a longing look at the decanter, but Seto did not refill his glass. There was barely any of his best brandy left as it was.

"Just get her some bits of green paste. She won't know the difference." Seto tossed off his own drink in a long gulp.

"She'll know," Devlin muttered darkly. "Believe me. And if I try to bamboozle her like that, she'll never give me the time of day again. Probably take that blasted Sinclair into her bed. He's been sniffing around her for weeks."

Seto scoffed. "She won't know. How could she? She's an opera dancer, not a jeweler. You're too easily taken in by these women, Devlin. It's all flash and show with them all."

Devlin shook his head morosely, and then reached for the decanter, apparently too in need of drink to worry about manners. Seto, however, didn't stop him, too caught up in an all-too- familiar train of thought. "It's no different than anyone else, really. The courtesan paints herself with rouge, the debutante with petty accomplishments. The man about town is as rich as Midas—until his creditors catch up to him. No one bothers to look beneath the surface."

"I don't know about that," said Devlin. "Those old cats in Almack's can scratch out a scandal even if its buried, and I wouldn't trust the sharp eyes of those matchmaking mamas to be distracted by a bit of flash." He shuddered. Devlin couldn't attend any kind of respectable entertainment without at least one or two of those mamas thrusting their marriageable daughters at him.

Seto chuckled mirthlessly. "You make my point for me, Devlin. Why does the _ton_ dangle their daughters after you? A title. They see the dukedom, and they look no further."

"A bit harsh, don't you think?" muttered Devlin, but Seto ignored him.

"Anybody with hubris and intelligence can manipulate the _ton_. Those biddies at Almack's are too vain to look beyond the end of their noses. Wave a bit of glitter at them, and they are caught. Why, I could take someone from the streets and pass her off as a duchess."

An intrigued expression crossed Devlin's face. "A bet?" His green eyes sparkled with anticipation.

Seto pushed back the lock of chestnut hair that seemed destined to fall onto his forehead no matter what Roland did to tame it. "Why not?" he returned in a bored voice.

"Someone from the streets, you say?"

"Or the gutter." Seto shrugged. "It makes no difference."

"And the wager?"

"What did you have in mind?"

Devlin studied the remains of honey-colored liquid in his glass, then set it down on the table. "The Serpenteye Emerald."

Seto choked. "What?"

"You heard me."

"I can't possibly wager the Serpenteye. It's one of the Kaiba family jewels." The thing was set in a hideous necklace that half the Countesses of Kaiba were wearing in the portraits that hung in the family gallery.

Devlin smirked. "Swap it out with a bit of green paste. Who will know?"

Seto lifted his glass to acknowledge the hit. "And what do you propose to put up for your end of the wager?"

"That filly I bought at Tattersall's last month, the one you admired so much. White, with blue eyes."

Seto's lip curled, but more with amusement than contempt. For the first time in months, he felt a spark of interest illuminating the heavy boredom that had hung over him. "You must be mad."

"They say a beautiful woman can do that, drive a man mad," Devlin mused. "But the odds against your turning some street wench into a paragon of respectability…I think Lady Luck will smile on me, even if Vivian will not."

A challenge Seto could not ignore. "Done."

Devlin blinked. "What?"

"I said, I will take you on," Seto said calmly. "The Serpenteye Emerald against your blue-eyed filly. You pick the wench I am to transform. These are my only conditions: she must be young, free of disease and in possession of all of her teeth, and passably pretty."

"You have that much confidence in your ability?"

Scorn dripped from his words. "I have that much confidence in society's stupidity. Do you think I would risk my family's heirlooms, otherwise?"

"You would risk whatever serves your purpose. We both know your family ties mean little to you, and their gems even less." Devlin's smirk widened into a grin. "But Vivian will look exquisite wearing it…and nothing else."

"You wound me," Seto said dryly. In truth, Devlin was correct about how little he cared for the treasures and trappings of the Kaiba name, though he was a fool if he thought to win the wager easily. The Serpenteye was part of Mokuba's inheritance, after all, and Seto would not part with it lightly. "How shall you go about picking the formless lump of clay I am to mold into one of the season's Originals?"

A devious smile tugged at the corner of Devlin's mouth. "I suggest we pay a visit to the Rook Street Convent."

"What?" Seto drew himself back in disgust. "I distinctly specified disease-free, did I not?"

"Relax, I'm not about to saddle you with some pox-ridden whore, but you also did say a wench off the street." Devlin clapped Seto on the shoulder. "Cheer up, Kaiba, I am certain we'll find the perfect candidate for you there."

Seto's brows arched heavenward, but his expression looked anything but angelic. "I'll say this, Devlin, you know how to hedge your bets."

"Don't be such a poor sport, Kaiba. This wager was your idea, you know." Devlin's eyes had the shine they always took on at the gaming table, especially when the play was deep. "Look, I'll even promise not to sabotage your efforts. Happy now? You can have a completely free field to display your disreputable debutante to the ton without any kind of interference from me. Hell, I'll even dance with her, if you want."

"Ask your aunt to sponsor her."

Devlin spluttered a mouthful of brandy across the study. "Ask my aunt to what? Are you raving?"

Seto waited for the man to get a hold of himself. "Think for a moment. This is a bachelor household. If I was to bring a young lady of good birth into society, she couldn't possibly live here. She'd be ruined before she even made her come-out. So, obviously, she must make her home somewhere else. Your cousin in town for her first Season as well, is she not?"

"Well, yes, Rebecca is making her come-out this year," Devlin admitted, "but—"

"She is staying with her mother, your aunt, and her maternal grandfather, yes?"

"Yes, but—"

"Your aunt, Lady Marie, would make an admirable chaperone, and their town house surely has enough space for another young lady, do you agree?"

"Yes, but, blast it all, Kaiba, you don't really expect me to foist a prostitute upon my aunt and cousin, do you?"

Seto fixed him with his most piercing gaze. "I thought you wanted a chance to win the Serpenteye Emerald? These are the conditions. If they are unacceptable, then we'll call the wager off right now."

Devlin scowled. "I won't allow Rebecca's reputation to be sullied just for a wager, Kaiba. What do you think of me?"

"Since I intend to fully convince the ton that my 'ward' is a lady of breeding and refinement, you should not have the smallest fear." Seto smirked. "But in any case, your cousin is a duke's granddaughter. It would take more than a little scandal to taint her name."

Devlin sighed. "Perhaps you're right, but Rebecca is something of a bluestocking, I fear. Aunt Marie is forever fretting about it."

"Then, doubtless she will be quite happy to have another young lady about to interest her in more feminine pursuits." Devlin had no further arguments to counter this, and finally agreed to see his aunt about the matter on the morrow.

"But first," he said, with the wicked glint back in his eye, "we should see about the young woman whose future will decide your fortunes."

* * *

A/N: While this story takes liberal inspiration from _My Fair Lady_, the setting is Regency and I use many terms and references throughout that might confuse readers who aren't used to reading the setting. I'll be giving some brief explanations of some of them after each chapter, but if I don't explain anything that's confusing (or if the explanations are obnoxious), please let me know in the comments!

* * *

Hessians - very fashionable style of men's boots, named after the style worn by Hessian mercanaries

_ton_ \- good society, the exclusive social circle of the nobility and landed gentry

Tattersalls - auction where high quality horses were sold

Almack's - exclusive social club known for its bad refreshments, high standards enforced by its four patronesses, and being the center of the Marriage Mart

bluestocking - originally a follower of the writings of Mary Wollstonecraft (feminist foremother), came to denote a woman interested in intellectual or academic pursuits instead of being focused on marriage and family


	2. The Woman

Any innocent soul under the impression that the Rook Street Convent was a place of prayer and purity would have had been disabused by their first glimpse of the abbess.

"They calls me Mother Margaret," she'd cooed at them in her husky croak of a voice. "Come in, come in at once."

Probably the woman had been beautiful once, but now that beauty had gone to seed. Her skin was pitted and coarse, caked with heavy rouge. Her eyes, shadowed with paint, were hard and calculating as they roved over the superfine coats and polished boots of the gentlemen who had come to call. When she curtsied low, curves once voluptuous, now plump, spilled out of the bodice of a velvet gown, that like its wearer, was worse for hard usage. The burgundy fabric was worn so nearly bald in places and blotched with dark stains.

Cheap perfume wafted up from the woman so strongly that Seto's eyes watered, but he suspected it was better than the alternative. The yellow smile she favored her wealthy visitors with only widened, revealing gaps and rotten places, as they explained why they had come.

"Of course, I've got lots of girls," she simpered, "but I can see that only the best will do for you gentlemen. Let me bring down a few of the likely 'uns."

Devlin was grinning as the woman scuttled off into the back recesses of her grimy house. Seto's expression was grim. What awful specimen of humanity would Devlin saddle him with? He shuddered to think.

Not for the first time since they had left the house, Seto considered whether this wager with Devlin might not be the most idiotic thing he had ever done. Did he really think he could take a creature well on her way to becoming what "Mother Margaret" was and make her the equal of any lady in a ballroom?

As if sensing his thoughts, Devlin glanced in his direction. "Thinking better of our little bet?"

"Not in the slightest." He favored the duke with a look of supreme boredom. "Merely wondering if this diversion will last the Season, or whether you will concede so early I will be forced to find other pursuits."

Devlin laughed. "Is London so utterly devoid of entertainment, then? To hear you tell it, it sounds as though you would rather be rusticating on your estates."

Seto made no reply. Well did he remember when he and Devlin had been young bucks together, new to their titles and the freedom of no one holding their purse strings. They'd cut a swath through the gaming hells and bordellos, sampling every wild pleasure that came into their heads and every bottle that came into their hands. But he had put those days behind him in favor of the responsibilities his estates—and his younger brother—demanded of him. Now, the wild nights they'd spent felt as hollow as the bottles they'd emptied. Without those pursuits, however, the endless tedium of high society was suffocating.

Wasn't that what had driven him here?

As if on cue, "Mother Margaret" reappeared in the doorway, a handful of young women trailing her. None of them could even be halfway out of their twenties, surely, but rough living had already left indelible marks. The red swelling around the first girl's nose and cheeks might not have raised any eyebrows on a middle-aged marquis too fond of brandy, but the tell-tale sign of alcoholism could not escape notice on a supposedly innocent debutante. The second, while possessed of a staggering figure and a swirl of hair so blonde it was nearly white, also had a haze of yellow about the eyes, and there was something sickly about her languid grace. That left the third girl, the youngest by the look of her, and the only one who was not smiling.

He moved closer to study her better, but she did not look up at him. He frowned. He was used to bold stares or seductive glances from members of her profession. Young misses might keep their gazes lowered or smile up at a gentleman shyly through their lashes, but this was not that, either. An unsettling indifference was on her face, and her eyes did not even stray his way.

It was like he wasn't even there.

A scowl hardened his features. He was the Earl of Kaiba. He was not a person to be ignored—least of all by this nobody of a prostitute! He drew himself up to his full, imposing height and glowered down at her, but she did not even appear to notice.

He was just on the verge of speaking and demanding that the girl treat him with the respect to which he was due, when Devlin spoke instead. "She'll do, I think." He nodded at the girl Seto was fixing with his most lordly glare. "Any objections, Kaiba?"

His jaw worked. He couldn't possibly complain she was ignoring him _now_. It would be utterly beneath him. Instead, trading his glower for a look of indifference, he scrutinized the girl. She was unnaturally pale, but unlike her companions, there were no marks of disease or harsh circumstances on her face. Her hair was auburn, pinned up in a braided bun. Loose tendrils framed a heart-shaped face still surprisingly fresh and innocent. Her eyes were wide and hazel—and still did not even stray in his direction.

Mother Margaret twisted her hands. "I do hopes you gentlemen will find our Serenity all that you want." She threw an anxious look in Seto's direction. "The Duke explained to me all your particular requirements, and while I do think Serenity might suit you nicely, perhaps I should warn you—"

"Warn me?" The girl could not be dangerous, surely. Did she carry a disease after all? He could see no sign of it… "Is she ill?"

"Oh, no, Serenity is quite healthy," the woman hastened to assure him. "She has a hardy constitution, she does."

"Is she an imbecile, then?" Was that why she was still standing there, motionless, as others talked about her.

"No, no your lordship. Nothing like that. W-why, you might even say she's quite a bright one."

Seto would keep his own counsel when it came to intelligence and not depend too much on the recommendation of a woman like Mother Margaret. Still, at least Devlin was not trying to saddle him with an idiot.

"She's a sweet one, our Serenity. And quiet. Unassuming-like." There was a hopeful tone to Mother Margaret's voice. "Easy to get along with, she is."

A sweet, quiet, _unassuming_ streetwalker? He raised his eyebrows. Such traits hardly seemed desirable in her profession. No wonder the abbess seemed eager to be rid of her. Still, they would suit his purposes, and if the other girls—the other best candidates she had, no doubt—were anything to go by, he could not afford to be any choosier.

His eyes lingered on the girl. Compared to the other girls, bright in paint and plumage, she was a drab little thing. Her slender figure was hidden under a surprisingly demure—if not particularly clean—day dress that might once have been blue, but now seemed to be an indeterminate shade of grey. It draped and bunched oddly, as if it were a larger woman's castoff, but could not completely hide the surprisingly generous swell of breasts and hips beneath. She was passably pretty, he supposed, and with a little cleaning up and a new wardrobe, he thought she would pass muster.

"Any objections?" Devlin repeated.

Scowling, Seto pulled his eyes from the girl to meet his laughing green ones. "I'm satisfied."

Mother Margaret moved towards the girls, sending the first two away, and speaking quietly to—Devil take it, what was her name? Serena? "Now, there's nothing to fret about, see? The Duke's going to set you up nice and proper in his own house—or is it his lordship?" She glanced between the duke and the earl, a pucker of confusion marking her brow. "Are you planning to share?"

The girl gasped, stumbling backwards, even as "NO!" came flying out of the mouths of both men.

"I'm afraid you have badly misunderstood the situation, madame," Seto said stiffly. Devlin, on the other hand, seemed to be trying not to laugh. "We intend to offer Miss…"

"Wheeler," Mother Margaret supplied.

"Miss Wheeler a position in the home of His Grace's aunt." Seto nodded in the still-grinning duke's direction.

"What sort of position?" It was the first time Seto had heard the girl speak, and he was struck by the quiet clarity of the words. Her voice was soft, but had none of the harsh consonants and rough accent of the abbess' speech.

He turned his gaze upon her, but though she finally faced him, her eyes did not quite meet his. "We will discuss the details in private, but you would serve as a… as a companion of sorts to His Grace's cousin."

Her expression did not smooth. If anything, the pucker in her brow only deepened. "His cousin?"

"A young lady making her come out," Seto clarified.

This intelligence ought to, if anything, caused more confusion, since this could hardly be a usual request for this sort of establishment. However, the girl seemed to relax, at least a little, although the tension did not quite leave her shoulders.

"But I don't understand," the girl said. "What assistance could I offer a young lady of quality?"

"We'll discuss the details later," Seto repeated with a quelling frown that seemed to leave no impression at all on the girl. "There are any number of things, I suppose." He cast about his mind for a suggestion. "Shop for ribbons? Fetch her shawl?" Those were jobs for a maid, he realized with a grimace. Devil take it. "Embroidery," he amended. "You might help with that." What the devil did young ladies even do with their day? "Or perhaps you might read to her in the afternoons."

"_Read _to her?" the girl squeaked.

Seto's stomach plunged. The girl was illiterate. But then, what had he expected? Blast this pig-headed wager of his. He ought to be shot before touching that brandy again. "That is, if you ever learned to read, I suppose," he drawled coldly.

"I have learned to read," protested the girl in such a soft tone that even the scuffing of a boot across the floor could have drowned it out. "But…"

Mother Margaret cleared her throat and interrupted. "I may as well tell you now, so there'll be no misunderstanding. Our Serenity here is blind."


	3. The Welcome

Blind? Seto stared at the slender young woman in front of him. For the first time, he took in how truly unfocused her wide, hazel eyes were. He had taken her refusal to meet his gaze as some sort of insolence. The truth was far more appalling.

He wheeled on Devlin. "I knew you were a hardened gamester, but I still took you for a man of honor." His voice was cold, his gaze murderous.

The duke threw up his hands. "I knew nothing of Miss Wheeler's affliction, I swear." He shifted as he paused, his eyes taking on a gleam Seto knew well to be wary of. "However, there was nothing about blindness in the terms we settled on. I do not see that there is any reason, with _honor_, you can cry off from my choice."

Seto ground his jaw. "You cannot possibly be serious."

"What was it exactly, that we agreed on?" Devlin smirked. "Oh yes, 'young, free of disease, in possession of all of her teeth, and passably pretty.' If I'm not very much mistaken, Miss Wheeler hits all the marks."

"She's _blind!"_ Seto spat.

"That's not a disease," Devlin pointed out coolly. "It isn't, is it, Mother Margaret?"

The woman looked thoroughly flustered to be dragged into the middle of the dispute between peers. Seto was far too incensed to feel even a shred of sympathy for her. "She's no doctor!"

"But she can tell us how Miss Wheeler came to be blind, can't you, Mother dear?" Devlin pressed.

"R-really," stammered the abbess. "Why don't you just ask Serenity all about it. She's not deaf, you know."

His gaze swung to the girl in question. She was standing very still in the center of the room, her hands clasped tightly together, and her face very pale. Offended, was she? Well, she could save her wounded dove performance for a more appreciative audience. He wasn't going to accept these ridiculous terms just as a sop to the sensibilities of a streetwalker. He turned back to Devlin with a glare. "It won't do, Devlin. You know it won't."

"You are perfectly free to concede, your lordship, if the challenge seems too difficult for you."

"And you, your Grace, are perfectly free to go…" Seto clenched his jaw. There were some bounds that couldn't be crossed, and Seto prided himself on being a man of control. But, _damn, _he wanted to plant the man a facer.

Devlin's lips just twitched, as if he was completely aware of what Seto was thinking. "I am sorry, old friend," he said, "but there is the regard of a lady in question, and you know what they say." He shrugged. "All's fair in love and war."

Seto fixed his icy blue gaze on his. "So," he said, in tones that would have frozen the blood of lesser men, "it's to be war."

* * *

_Heaven help me now. _

Standing perfectly still, hands clenched painfully tight, Serenity fought to keep the words from slipping into the same blurred shapes as the world around her.

Maggie had not explained, had refused to explain, what she wanted her for when she had dragged her into the parlor, and now they were all standing around her, Maggie and these strange men, talking about her as though she were a bolt of dress-goods. No, worse. She was a bolt of dress-goods with a terrible stain all through its yardage, a length of silk carelessly wrapped and spoiled by rain. Damaged goods.

A horrible, most inappropriate laugh welled up in her chest, and she forced it down with an effort. What would Maggie do if her sweet, quiet, unassuming Serenity suddenly burst into a fit of wild hysterics?

That sobered her. Maggie had been good to her. Better than what Serenity knew all too well she would find if Maggie threw her out on the streets.

Fear clamped tight on her chest. That couldn't happen. Not again.

The taller of the two men was speaking, cold anger thrumming through his words. They made her flinch. A blind woman was clearly not what he had in mind. No, of course not. He was a peer, that was all too evident from the crisp enunciation of his vowels to the lordly disdain that dripped from his consonants. No matter that she had missed whatever title Maggie had given him. He was from a world above, and that world could not have anything in it that was inferior.

The old anger surged inside of her, hot and bitter. She heard her own voice break the taut silence. "You cannot require my presence any longer, my lords."

Instantly, the men stilled. She heard their heads turn towards her, felt the weight of their eyes. Pride stiffened her spine. Despite her cheap, faded clothes, despite her dreadful circumstances, despite the shapeless world of light and shadow she lived in now, she refused to linger to be discarded like so much garbage. With her head held high, Serenity whirled toward the door, blinking away the wetness that was not responsible for the blurry world around her.

"Wait."

His voice rang out like steel, sharp enough to slice a man to ribbons. Then, hard fingers grasped her arm, a physical command to accompany the verbal. Slowly, she turned toward the source of the voice. It was the taller of the two men who held her, she thought, and she turned her face towards where she guessed his own was.

"You are certain she is blind?" she heard the other man mutter to Maggie, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep the wry smile from her face. She _was _blind, but she certainly wasn't deaf. This was a skill she'd learned in her first weeks at the convent. Hester had been the one to first teach her the knack of it. The older girl had worked at a seamstress shop and ruined her eyes straining over whitework embroidery by dim candlelight late into the evenings. Once her eyesight was too poor for her to continue her work, the shop had turned her out, and she'd found herself on the street. Just like Serenity herself, she'd found her way to Maggie's. Just like Serenity, she'd had to find ways to compensate for her poor eyesight

"_Are_ you blind?" the man still holding her arm demanded. Once again, his voice made her think of sharpened steel. The question jabbed at her injured pride. Stiffly, she drew herself up and merely nodded.

"Look," he began, then swore. He tried again. "That is, you have to see… Oh, damn it all to hell!"

From the direction of the other man, a low chuckle was unconvincingly turned into a cough.

The man's breath hissed between clenched teeth as he made a third attempt. "_Listen_ here," he enunciated deliberately. "Your infirmity is regrettable, and obviously not of your own making, but surely even you can see that you cannot be suited for such a position."

"I'm afraid I can see no such thing, my lord," she informed him coolly. It was a pity she could not see his expression. Was he the kind of man to flinch? Or merely be annoyed? Perhaps his face would go purple with rage at her impudence. "As to being of my own making, I am afraid I must disagree with you there as well."

"Whatever do you mean?"

Memories pressed tight against the lids of her useless eyes, the last clear images she had ever seen rushing over and into each other. "It happened in an accident." The quiet calm of her own voice surprised her. "A carriage accident."

She could see it all, the valise lying on the worn sat of that dingy hackney, outside, mud everywhere, thick as clotted cream on a scone, the coachman swearing, the horses rearing, high-pitched whinnies cutting through the drumming of the heavy rain. That awful, awful wrench as wood and metal tore free, and the world whirling, whirling, into darkness, never to be righted again.

"Were you driving the carriage?" The sardonic bite to his words brought her back to the present, to the parlor in Maggie's house and the man standing before her.

"No," she admitted, "but you see I was attempting to leave my father's house, and if I had not done such a thing, I would not have been in the carriage, would I? So, it cannot be said that I am without blame."

_"Divine judgment,"_ the local vicar had said. _"Sometimes it is swift and sure, as it was to Ananias and Sapphira." _His wife had been kinder. She had attempted to find a position for Serenity, but none of her efforts had met with success. In the end, they had both washed their hands of her.

Serenity swallowed hard, but managed to keep her voice even. "Afterwards, my father would not have me back. I would have been a burden, after all, and a tiresome one. So, I found myself walking the streets of London, where some interesting women were kind enough to introduce me to their way of life and provide a roof over my head." She pulled free from his grip, now that it had slackened. "Anyway, women like me do not give of their time without recompense, so I do not believe I will waste any more of it."

She began to stride purposefully towards the door, when her exit was arrested yet again. This time, the man's hand landed on her shoulder. "Wait," he repeated, but this time the command was not quite so sharp. With a tug, he turned her back to face him.

"I beg your pardon," she said stiffly, but he did not release her. Instead, his grip on her shoulder tightened fractionally, and with his other hand he tipped her chin upwards, turning her face towards the light. His fingers were large and powerful, but not pudgy, although the skin that touched hers was surprisingly soft and smooth. But of course. Why would a lord have to sully his hands with work?

For a moment, he was silent, though she could hear his breath, feel his appraising gaze. Then, he spoke, and she was surprised at the note, almost like laughter, she could hear in cold, ringing baritone. "I have changed my mind. She will do."

The words seemed to be for his friend, not her. She was an object, yet again, with no will of her own to choose. Briefly, she thought of pulling away from this smug, icy peer and stalking from the room, but then Maggie was there, falling over herself with flatteries and assurances, the nervous tension plain in her voice.

Without Maggie, she would still be out on the street. If Maggie so chose, she could be there again. This might not be the future she would have wanted, but it was _a_ future.

In the end, was there really a choice?

* * *

A/N:

whitework - white on white (can also be used for any thread-matches-fabric color combo) embroidery

hackney - hired carriage, used for transportation by those who could not afford to keep their own personal carriages and horses

* * *

I do have a specific origin and medical reason for Serenity's blindness in this story which is almost certainly different from the (vague, never-revealed) condition she has in the anime, and I will do the best I can to portray it accurately given a) I am not a medical expert and don't know anyone personally with this condition, and b) I'm trying to work within medical knowledge and treatments that would have existed in this time period. If anything I write seems really off, please let me know, but also keep in mind that Serenity's condition might not always be exactly like "typical" blindness seen in movies and tv shows.


End file.
